


are you really gonna save the world this way

by silver-sparks (Madame_Marauder)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), emphasis on the comfort, in the words of techno: minor terrorism, nov 16th fix-it, sorry we needed an antagonist, tubbo is also one of the smartest fuckers here, tubbo is sparklez's son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:21:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28218402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_Marauder/pseuds/silver-sparks
Summary: tubbo is fully aware that he doesn't know when to give up, and he doesn't plan to learn now.or; in which tubbo steals things he was told to burn, decides that his dad was an excellent role model, delivers two vastly different speeches, and refuses to allow the whole thing to blow up in their faces.
Comments: 23
Kudos: 301





	are you really gonna save the world this way

**Author's Note:**

> the first ~3k was written prior to the end of nov 16th, and characterizations reflect that. they don't line up perfectly with what's going on now, but seemed plausible at the time. edited and posted late for the holidays.
> 
> merry fix-itmas!

tubbo is a sailor, a soldier, a spy. he learned at the knee of a captain and the side of a revolutionary and the hand of a ruler. he is sweet and innocent and bright, yes- but he is also smart. he knows he is, knows he  _ has  _ to be, because you do not survive being a sailor or a soldier or a spy by being foolish. he knows how to read the sea, how to read body language, how to hear words left unsaid. he knows how to walk on eggshells, on a tightrope, on the edge between two equal dangers. he knows how to balance above the waiting abyss.

he jokes in his speech, charming and disarming, because he is not the confident president or the powerful emperor. he's just tubbo, just a kid, just their friend. he just needs everyone to relax. techno tenses further and further as he mentions restoring the government alongside the nation itself. wilbur is fidgeting with his sleeve, staring at the ground, not listening to a word he says. he weighs his options, newly infinite and yet perpetually few.

"um," he says. "i don't think i'm going to pick a cabinet just yet. didn't exactly plan on this, you know." there are sighs and chuckles in the crowd, and tubbo smiles nervously. wilbur is slowly stepping towards the edge of the group, excusing himself quietly. "quite frankly, i think i'm going to hold off on formalizing it for a while, because what schlatt left behind is an absolute mess of corrupt loopholes, and we need to worry about rebuilding our home before we worry about any fancy titles. i think we should go back to what l'manburg was founded to be, and undo the tyranny that schlatt forced on us, yeah? fix up the camarvan, restore the flag?"

there's a smattering of cheers, and plenty of enthusiastic nodding. too forceful; techno is openly frowning, now, even if wilbur has paused. careful, careful. he considers the chips in play, considers his hand, lays down his next card.

"maybe let's start with taking down my execution decorations," tubbo offers, and lets his smile turn strained. here's an honest truth; "it's really not great being up here again."

tommy is the first to loudly agree, but the others hastily nod, and the crowd begins to thin as tubbo drops down from the stage. he needs to move fast, because he's playing with a lot more than fire, here. he's playing with redstone and explosives, halfhearted promises and skeletal monsters, a paranoid twin and a betrayed one. niki is at techno's side for the moment, at least, and dream has backed off for a brief moment. wilbur is headed out of the group, though, headed up toward the hill behind the stage.

tubbo's blood runs cold, because he knows what makes his best friend have his newest sort of nightmares, and he knows where it is. "wilbur!"

the former president pauses, at least, and turns to him. "president tubbo."

he shakes his head, because he knows that he's being watched, knows that his words are being listened to, even if not by the man he's speaking to. "i really don't need the titles, wilbur," he replies, and scrambles for anything at all that could calm everyone down. they all believe that they're right, all believe that they should have power- ah. perfect. "can i talk to you for a couple minutes?"

the pause stretches long and fragile, and then he nods sharply. "sure. what do you need?"

"a little advice from l'manburg's founder, maybe," tubbo offers, impulsively reaching out to take his hand and pull him back towards the others. just in case. wilbur flinches slightly, but doesn't pull away. his hands are freezing. tubbo doesn't comment. "and i do have something i want to show you. i managed to keep  _ some  _ stuff out of schlatt's hands."

he doesn't wait to see the expression on wilbur's face, because tommy has bumped into his side and dropped an arm around his shoulders. "president tubbo!"

"big man," tubbo laughs, and hits him lightly with his free hand. "i swear to all the gods, if you all start trying to be formal with me, i'm stealing your shoelaces."

tommy laughs, that shrieking cackle that is his absolute favorite sound, and pushes him gently. "tubbo, if you think i do formal, i think we need to get your memory checked."

he snorts, and for a moment he almost forgets about the lingering danger and looming destruction, because for a moment his chest is so very full of light and hope. only for a moment, though, because wilbur tries to slip his cold hand out of his own, and tubbo is instantly reminded of the utter chaos that lurks and waits. "yeah," he says weakly, and tightens his hold on wilbur. "i need to talk to you two. and- hey, eret! techno! c'mere for a second!"

the two kings both turn away from their conversations, eret smiling and techno scowling, but they both follow him over to the side. they're standing beside the ruins of the camarvan, he realizes faintly, and the thought makes him want to either laugh or cry. tommy looks worried, and wilbur looks wary, and they both look confused. tubbo doesn't acknowledge it, because if he stopped to breathe, he wouldn't have the courage to do what he's about to.

"i want you as my cabinet," he blurts out, as soon as the five of them are safely away from the crowd. "not as secretaries of shit, but as advisors. all three of you."

eret blinks. wilbur's jaw drops. techno crosses his arms. "you want me, an  _ anarchist,  _ to help a sixteen-year-old  _ president _ decide what to do?"

"yes," tubbo says, and the more that he thinks this through, the more certain he is. "i want you to have a say in what happens in the land that you just helped take back, first off. l'manburg needs  _ some  _ sort of leader to deal with dream and the other factions, but it also needs to have power spread out enough that there can never be another schlatt. we need some kind of limits. if there's anyone who knows enough about history and government to help make that happen, it's you."

techno leans back slightly, watching him with calculating eyes. "government is government."

"and a democratic one is better than a dictatorship," tubbo snaps, and he closes his eyes when techno raises an eyebrow, takes a deep breath. "look. none of you knew him, but if there was one thing my dad raised me to believe in, it was balance and fairness. i'm trying to make this as good as it can be for everyone involved. a former monarch who knows how the smp kingdom actually functions, an anarchist who knows everything there is to know about history and government, and the founding president of this country? i think that sounds pretty balanced to me."

tommy shifts his weight. "and me?"

tubbo glances at him and sighs. "tommy, you are the person i trust most in any situation. if you want the vice presidency, it's waiting for you, l'manburg would never have gotten her independence at all if it wasn't for you, and she's gonna need her right hand man."

his best friend cracks a smile. "thanks, big t."

eret smiles sadly. "i appreciate the thought, tubbo, but i don't know that i'm the best choice."

he raises an eyebrow at them. "you're the only one here who knows how the smp works as a government. because you ran it, and you were  _ good _ at it. if you want to make up for what you did, then helping me help l'manburg is a good start. you don't have to agree to this, but you  _ are  _ the best choice." 

they hesitate, but nod. techno is still watching, silently observing. these are his first acts as president, after all. this sets the stage.

"wilbur?" tubbo asks, because he's been awfully quiet. 

"this is who you're trusting?" wilbur asks quietly. "really?"

there comes a time to agree idly, and there comes a time to put his foot down. "yes. i am trusting the most experienced people around, with the most varied and valuable knowledge, who all have a vested interest in making sure l'manburg is both safe and free. i  _ want  _ to hear from everyone, but i  _ need  _ to hear from you. you're my family and friends, yes, but you're also the most capable people i know."

techno frowns again. "bias and nepotism. you just admitted to not trusting anyone else."

"i trust niki and fundy," he insists, but the argument is weak to his own ears. fuck. "but you're right. i  _ don't  _ trust quackity as much as i do you, but if there's anyone who can help untangle schlatt's paperwork and decrees, it's him. i think he probably did the heavy lifting on most of them, anyway."

that gets an approving nod, but not by much. "reasonable, from someone who was just undemocratically appointed as president after a hostile takeover. "

tommy bristles, and eret frowns, and wilbur watches silently. tubbo cuts off any of their responses with a wave of his hand. " _ interim  _ president. the last election was a corrupt and easily exploited mess. we'll hold a legitimate one, not rigged, with clear rules. no surprise coalitions, no mass fraud, no changing tickets. i probably won't even run if i can make things stable enough to stay."

"you want to restructure the country," wilbur finally realizes. "completely."

" _ emancipate  _ the brutality and the tyranny of their rulers," tubbo replies, which is the closest thing to a  _ yes  _ that he'll say aloud. "checks and balances, town halls, an actual system of fair trials- there's a difference between speaking on behalf of the people and speaking for them, and schlatt was on the wrong side of that."  _ so were you,  _ he doesn't add. "i'm not here to lead anyone, i'm here to take care of them."

techno sighs, arms folded across his chest. he looks marginally less frustrated, but not by much. "for the record, this is going to end in disaster, suffering. and pain. the world doesn't look too kindly on those who attempt things like this. heroes and revolutionaries don't get happy endings."

"didn't stop my dad," tubbo insists, and pulls himself up to his full, admittedly short, height. "isn't going to stop me." 

they look at each other for a moment, and techno's gaze slips over to tommy, to wilbur. he pauses, and then abruptly nods. "if you want to end up at anarchy the long way round, i won't stop you," techno decides. "it'll slide into that in the end. less work for me, not wasting my supplies."

tubbo tries not to slump in relief. "fair enough, techno," he agrees. "fair enough. we can work out the details in the morning, yeah? i think we've all earned the right to enjoy this tonight."

tommy whoops and eret grins, and wilbur tries and fails to smile. tubbo feels his stomach flip anxiously, even as techno snorts in amusement. one crisis allegedly averted, yes; time for another one.

"i have a few things to give back to you two," tubbo announces, once more catching tommy and wilbur's hands before either can slip away. fundy is standing on a chair and redoing the red and blue decorations while someone else starts a bonfire from the horned banners. there is laughter and joy and light, and it's not hard to be cheerful as he pulls them forward. "come on."

he pretends not to hear what eret says as they turn to techno, pretends not to hear that  _ even if you think the cause is worth hurting them, it's not _ . he doesn't have to pretend not to hear techno's reply, because he doesn't hear one at all.

tommy and wilbur let him pull them to his base, tommy always energetic and wilbur seemingly anxious. dream is watching them, which isn't a good sign, but that's not the biggest concern right now.

"what's down here, big man?" tommy asks, glancing around the bunker. he doesn't even look at the hidden entrance, and neither does wilbur. fantastic.

"i hid some shit from schlatt," tubbo admits, and shoulders open the false wall. they both raise their eyebrows; they legitimately hadn't seen it. "books, mostly, because he wanted them gone. your jukebox from your house, just 'cause it would've been stolen by someone else otherwise. and a couple things for you, wilbur. here."

he opens the chest behind the podium, and pulls out the things he had snuck out of the white house without schlatt noticing. the emperor had ordered all of his predecessor's things removed, and hadn't specified quite enough in what to do with them. his mistake.

the yellow sweater is dusty but entirely unharmed, so tubbo simply shakes it out and offers it back to its rightful owner. "i couldn't save much without being noticed," he warns. wilbur hardly seems to hear him, staring at the sweater with the strangest look in his eyes. tubbo doesn't comment as he takes the sweater with shaking hands, only inhales and exhales and adds, "you might want to wash it, but it might be a bit warmer than that coat."

wilbur nods slowly, his hold on the sweater slowly tightening. "thank you," he says hoarsely, and it's the most like himself that he's sounded in months. "i- thanks, tubbo."

tubbo watches him tie it around his waist with stiff, jerky movements, like he doesn't remember how to move slowly or softly. because he doesn't. that's not a surprise. "yeah, of course," he replies, and crouches down to unwrap the rags from the other item. tommy's eyebrows shoot up when he realizes what it is, but wilbur isn't looking anywhere but his shaking hands.

and so maybe he brushes his thumb over the strings as he lifts it from the chest, just to get his attention.

and so maybe it's the best decision he's made so far today.

wilbur glances up in shock and makes a sound like a wounded animal, a sound that tubbo resolutely refuses to call a whimper. he reaches out, but freezes, drawing his hand back slightly. "is that-"

"your guitar," tubbo confirms, and steps forward to gently push it into his hands. wilbur pulls it to him desperately, cradling it like it's the most valuable thing in the world. to him, it probably is. he wraps his fingers around the neck and stares down at the name carved into the side, six neatly printed letters that make his eyes water. it's the least distant that his gaze has been in a long, long time, sharp and focused on the instrument in his hands.

he curls around it protectively, strums it just to hear the notes. it's a little out of tune, one string flat and another sharp, but it's enough to make him stifle a sob.

tubbo watches him carefully, watches him hesitantly duck under the guitar strap and shudder as the weight settles across his back. there's something very important here, something that he's at least partially missing, but it doesn't really matter. wilbur is acting like he's just been handed some missing piece of his soul, and it seems to ground him. he shifts the guitar over his shoulder to his back, and something about it changes his posture, pulls him together.

"thank you," wilbur says again, and this time it sounds even more like a sob. he's trying so hard not to cry, but he wipes at his eyes with one hand as he sets the other on tubbo's shoulder. 

tubbo thinks about the red coat folded in the bottom of his ender chest, and does the sort of impulsive thing that makes him tommy's best friend. he steps forward and pulls wilbur into a hug, because the man desperately needs one.

wilbur tenses, and then all but collapses into him, wrapping his arms tight in return. tubbo would absolutely love to bask in it, because wilbur has always given really good hugs, but there also happens to be a certain someone standing a meter away who would kill to be in this position.

"come here," tubbo says, holding out a hand to his best friend. tommy stares at the scene in shock, but steps forward far too hesitantly. tubbo pulls him into his side, and to wilbur's credit, he only waits two beats too long before shifting one arm to wrap it around his little brother.

tommy practically melts into them, though, curling close. it's been far too long since they've caught a peaceful moment, much less one with time or trust between them. and yet here one is, peaceful and perfect, and it feels like acknowledging it would shatter everything around them. tommy is pressed into tubbo's side, and wilbur has buried his face in tommy's hair, and tubbo is still clinging to wilbur's chest. nobody is breathing evenly, and nobody has stopped shaking, but nobody has pulled away, either.

tubbo just wants to bask in the moment for a bit longer.

and he  _ can,  _ so he does. __

__ when they finally separate, it's not out of fear or frustration or necessity. there's something that's shifted in the air around them, something that's settled into place. he can't name it, not like his dad could, but tubbo can guess that what he's feeling is a shift of the balance. the scales may just have tipped back from the edge of breaking completely.

there is laughter and cheering and what sounds like singing, the festival grounds finally used for the purpose they were intended for, and tommy is smiling so very widely. tubbo grins back, and nods up at the entrance. "you want to go celebrate?"

"fuck yeah, i do," tommy replies, and grabs wilbur's hand. "come on, big man. big men. let's go party or some shit."

wilbur smiles. it's small and shy and it wavers slightly, hesitant and disbelieving, but it's an honest smile. his gaze flicks to the tunnels toward pogtopia, but only for a brief moment. tubbo catches his other hand before he can reply, and steps forward in the same moment that tommy does, and wilbur lets them drag him into the light.

the afternoon sun is lazily setting in a haze of golden light, and the bonfire of burning banners and pamphlets is lively and roaring. there's a pile of wadded up posters and broken signs that people are taking turns tossing into the flames. niki dumps an armful of wanted posters into the fire, and they curl into ash to a chorus of cheers. quackity chucks a piece of a shattered ruleboard, and laughs as he's applauded for it.

"it's free therapy," he declares, wild and overjoyed, and everyone who had lived under manberg agrees loudly. techno rolls his eyes and breaks another sign for him to burn.

tubbo already feels like he might die of sheer relief, much less excitement, but it only gets better from there. niki sees them and hurries over, bright and joyful, and she sweeps wilbur away to dance to the deeply mediocre singing. he stumbles over his own feet as she spins him around, but he finds his balance after a while, and eventually joins in with the drinking songs. tommy decides to climb atop the van to watch the revelries, and tubbo sits beside him, and they talk about absolutely nothing of any importance. the sun dips low in the sky, and the fire dies down to something smaller, and everyone settles down around it. fundy still sits between wilbur and eret, only with the buffer of niki now at his side. techno and quackity sit awkwardly to eret's other side, and there's an empty spot left open as niki starts to pass around hot chocolate and wilbur starts to tune his guitar.

it's so easy to drop down and settle back into their places, tommy at wilbur's side and tubbo at tommy's. the twilight sky is a hundred shades of purple and gold, and they sit around a campfire in the shadow of the camarvan, and wilbur strums familiar chords. 

"the president sings the first chorus," he says quietly, and the last notes of the introduction fade away.

tubbo takes a breath, closes his eyes, and hopes that he won't fuck all this up like his predecessors. _ "i heard there was a special place, where men could go and emancipate, the brutality and the tyranny of their rulers." _

niki closes her eyes and sways along; fundy flicks his tail in time to the beat. eret taps their foot, and quackity listens closely, and techno is quiet as tommy hums. wilbur smiles sadly at the ground.

_ "well, this place  _ is  _ real, you needn't fret,"  _ tubbo continues, letting himself smile widely enough to be audible. the next line needs a hasty change, but he thinks he manages it.  _ "with wilbur, tommy, tubbo, fundy and eret! it's a very big and not blown-up l'manburg." _

he catches wilbur's eyes from across the fire, and the former president nods once. good. he's doing well. there's just one more thing he has to change.

_ "our l'manburg,"  _ he says, and there's more than one poorly hidden jerk of surprise. techno raises his eyebrows and leans back, but tommy joins him eagerly in the second repetition, and then fundy and niki chime in loudly as quackity and eret do the same much more quietly.

wilbur pauses, but inhales deeply, and strums the last chord.  _ "our l'manburg,"  _ he agrees softly, something indescribable in his eyes. it's not fury, though, not hate or paranoia or panic. the only fire in his gaze is the light of the one before them. he'd shrugged off the khaki coat in order to play properly, and sitting there in a plain shirt with a guitar in hand, he almost looks like himself.

tommy pesters him to keep playing, though, and wilbur sighs but starts another song. he plays a drinking song for most everyone to roar along to, the one he had played the night they had gotten their independence, and then something fierce and lovely about always coming home.  _ learn to love without consuming,  _ indeed. he plays something that only tommy and techno seem to know, but that everyone enjoys, and then a sea shanty that tubbo had almost certainly been the one to teach him. everyone claps and cheers and sings along to whichever they know, and though the sun has mostly set, wilbur is practically glowing. 

tubbo leans into tommy and curls his hands around his sleeves and smiles, because they've made it this far. they've made it home, made it to safety, made it to a place where they're warm and dry and happy and their friends are the same. he's proud of the fact that they've managed it. he's so, so relieved.

tommy leans into him, smiling and laughing, and everyone is happy, and it's utterly perfect.

and then, of course, their comms all ping in ominous unison.

_ dream: charming, but i'm afraid we had a deal. _

everyone stops in confusion, and the mirth drops right out of wilbur's expression. nobody knows what dream's talking about, but he's paled significantly more than the others. it's not a good sign. 

perhaps because his comm pings twice more, when nobody else's does.

"wilbur?" tubbo asks, because he's all but shaking. he flinches at the sound of his name, which is  _ really _ not a good sign. "did dream message you anything more? do you know what he's talking about?"

the hunted, frightened glint has abruptly returned to his eyes. "i- he-"

he's cut off by two more pings, too perfectly timed to shut him up.

_ dream: don't worry. i'll keep up my end. _

_ <philza has joined.> _

__ tommy gasps, and techno sits upright a little more. neither of them were expecting this, then, and nobody else would have made any sort of deal with dream for their father's presence. no, there's exactly one person who would have, who would have something that dream considers worth that kind of cost, who sits pale and breathless as his comm pings again. tubbo looks over his shoulder, and glimpses two short words that both prove him right and make his blood run cold.

_ dream: your turn. _

"l'manburg for phil?" tubbo asks, because it's an obvious connection. wilbur flinches, and several people startle, but he doesn't acknowledge it. he's busy holding eye contact and pushing down his rage. it makes sense, of course, a perfectly logical idea. "l'manburg for phil, wilbur?"

wilbur curls his hands into fists, on the edge of fight or flight, and tubbo grits his teeth and backs down just a touch. he has to be careful, here. "replace two doomed things with a good one," he mutters, which makes absolutely no sense unless he had planned on going out with l'manburg.

"no," tubbo replies simply, because by all indications, that must have been the plan. "the deal was to press the damn button, wasn't it?"

the only response he gets is a haunted look. it's as much confirmation as he needs.

every example set for him over the past several years screams at him to shout and swear and threaten, for him to lean into the traitor's face and mock him before he dies a painful death. the shadows of his two predecessors stretch long and dark, and it takes everything in him to step away. he will not follow their footsteps; instead, he falls back into memories of being young and protected, watching his father pacing the deck of the ship and gesturing as he talked through his plans to save them and the crew yet again. he leans into it, lets himself imitate his dad. there's no one better to copy, and there never has been.

tubbo stands, and half the group flinches back. he ignores it, because now is not the time to mention how horribly traumatized they all are, and walks from his seat to eret's before pacing back again.

"you made a deal with a god," tubbo announces, because it's true. "and you had every intention of following through. and then you didn't. which is good! it's very good that you didn't. but now he's mad."

wilbur stares at him, and nods slowly, like he's entirely confused by something. everyone is watching them with weary, worried eyes. "chekhov's gun," wilbur says hoarsely. "i thought- i didn't think-"

he breaks off, but he curls around his guitar again, and there are too many ways for that sentence to end.  _ thought it was the only way. didn't think we could win. thought it would be best if i destroyed my legacy. didn't think you wanted me, needed me, loved me. _

tubbo sighs.

"right," he says, and at least his voice is mostly even. "and now philza is here, and judging from tommy's expression, he's not responding to any messages, is he?"

tommy startles almost guiltily, but he meets his eyes. "he's not. and that's not like him, tubbo."

wilbur's comm pings once more, and he scrambles to his feet as soon as he sees the message. tommy stands in the same instant, because even now they are so in tune. "he's with dream, i need to- i have to. flight is banned, and phil-"

tubbo remembers two unrelated things in very rapid succession. he remembers the day he had asked his dad about one of the names in a story, the pain in his dad's eyes as he had explained, the sound of his own horrified gasp even at age thirteen. he also remembers the terrifying storm they had sailed through when he was no more than eight, the sound of the mast breaking, the sight of his dad running to fix it himself instead of letting the crew put themselves in danger. he remembers the story of a boy whose protectors failed to save him but still tried to help him heal, and he remembers what it means to be a captain.

a country and a ship are different things, but not  _ that  _ different, surely.

he has a plan. an absolutely insane, wild, absurd plan, admittedly, the sort of thing his uncle would come up with. it's mad, but it might just be mad enough to work. "where are the explosives, wilbur?" 

"under l'manburg," he says, vague and unhelpful and bordering on panic.

"specific borders," tubbo insists, stopping in front of him. "how far out from the button room, how far across?"

wilbur clenches and unclenches his fists, clearly fighting for control. "from the lake to the hill, from the button room to the boxing ring," he replies, his tone far too easy. "the inside of the stage is packed."

fuck. "is there redstone to link it? one path, two?" he pushes, because that's the difference between life and death for them all. "is there a connection between the tnt, or just proximity? dust or wires?"

"one button, two signals," wilbur admits. "both are dust. one for the stage, one for beneath. tubbo, he'll  _ know  _ if i disconnect it, because nothing will happen."

tubbo shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and runs for the metaphorical rigging in this mess of a storm. "go. if dream and phil are in the button room, go. stall for as long as you can before it gets pressed. tommy, follow him, make a scene to buy time. do  _ not  _ get into a physical fight, either of you. promise me."

tommy, tense as a bowstring, takes his brother's hand and squeezes. "we won't. but l'manburg-"

"will be fine," tubbo insists, and pushes him gently. "go."

wilbur looks at him strangely, but nods once as he steps back, and then takes off running, guitar bouncing against his back. tommy follows on his heels, and they disappear over the hill.

tubbo steadies himself, then turns back to everyone else. "niki, quackity, i need you to get everyone out and away from the blast radius. near the docks should be safe enough. eret, i need you to go to the stage, and surround the tnt with water. keep the redstone intact so that it activates when he presses it, but make sure that you create a buffer so that the damage is mostly contained. techno, will you help him with that?"

techno frowns, but stands reluctantly. "phil will give me shit for it if i don't," he replies, which is not a shining ideal of a motive, but it's enough for him to act, so tubbo is really not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. "but if dream tries to hurt him…"

"thank you," tubbo says, because he's very aware that badly-strained family ties are the only thing keeping the hand of the blood god from causing more destruction than the bombs ever could. quite honestly, he wishes dream the best of luck after deciding to threaten philza. all three of his sons will be after the godling for that. "fundy, you're with me. do you have water?"

the fox darts over to the lake, and holds up a freshly filled bucket. "i do now. what's the plan, mr. president?"

"we need to stop the main detonation," tubbo insists, and waves at everyone as they stand there in shock. "come on! we gotta go!" 

they finally move. fundy is right on his heels as he runs, and they tear into the hillside together, searching desperately for the redstone. they have a general sense of direction, based on where the trail leads out from the stage, but it takes precious moments to find the second trail without disturbing the first. his heart is pounding in his chest, because the entire nation is counting on him, because he  _ has  _ to get this right. he has to.

fundy is the one to find it, the one to call him over in a whispered shout. they're close enough that they can hear muffled shouting from inside the hill, close enough that they dare not shout themselves. it's simple enough to pour their water down the stone tunnel and wash the redstone dust away. 

and then tubbo realizes the flaw in his plan.

"we need to destroy any tnt that the bombs under the stage might set off," he hisses, because he knows how to mine with chain explosives, knows how the clusters set each other off. "it could all still get blown up."

he drops to one knee, meaning to crawl down the tunnel himself, but fundy catches him by the shoulder. "let me. you can't die if it goes off."

tubbo glances back at him. "captains go down with their ships," he replies simply. "we need to hurry."

fundy blinks, then nods once, waving him onwards and following close behind.

and so they crawl down the cold, wet tunnel until they reach the maze that connects each planted bomb. it's just barely tall enough for them to stand, and then it's a desperate race to orientate themselves and remove the most dangerous of the explosives. their only light is from their enchanted gear, because any sort of torch is far too risky. it's dark, claustrophobic, terrifying. they have no way of knowing what's going on- at least not until fundy's communicator suddenly crackles to life.

"wil, please," says a voice that can only be philza. "it's okay. you've worked so hard for this, you've won it back, and i'm just-"

"you're my  _ dad!"  _ wilbur shouts, loud enough to make the connection turn to fuzzing static for a moment. his voice breaks completely on that word, choked with more emotion than tubbo has ever heard. fundy looks at him frantically, and they silently agree to push this crate of explosives away a bit faster. "techno and i agreed- back when we were kids, we agreed- for you, phil, the world. the world! and l'manburg, well. l'manburg can stay an unfinished symphony."

someone is hyperventilating into the comms. tommy.  _ fuck. _

"wilbur, son,  _ please-"  _ philza tries, and tommy shrieks, and there's a slam and a thump and a wordless cry. everyone is talking over each other and screaming at one another, everyone but dream.

dream is laughing.

tubbo can hear explosions in the distance, can feel the world shake around them, can hear the last few clusters at the very ends of the tunnels hiss and ignite. fundy pushes him to the ground, trying to shield him, but miraculously the blast doesn't do more than fling debris their way. it doesn't even hit them; the flames don't reach to the end of what they've cleared.

they've done it.

they've  _ done it. _

there's a giant crater at the end of the tunnels, now, and fundy helps him up as dream's tinny laughter turns to ominous silence and then a furious accusation. " _ you." _

"i pushed the button," wilbur insists, and laughs, a little hysterically. "i did what you asked. didn't do anything to the redstone or bombs, i promise."

tubbo runs down the tunnel, skidding to a halt at the edge of the crater. smoke fills the sky, but he can still see that the hidden room has been blown open. dream has his blade leveled at wilbur, but philza and tommy are both trying to put themselves in front of him. philza doesn't even have a weapon, and dream is dangerous even before you factor in the netherite.

so tubbo, raised on stories of taunting gods, does the only thing he can think of. he picks up a rock from the smoking ground on which he stands, says a silent prayer to the goddess of retribution, and chucks it at the back of dream's head.

it makes a satisfying little ding as it bounces off his helmet, and it also does the trick of drawing his attention away from philza and his sons. the godling turns slowly, threateningly.

"you tried!" tubbo shouts, and feels himself grin in fierce, furious defiance. adrenaline is racing through his veins, and it probably makes him impulsive, but he doesn't care. his voice echoes from the crater, ringing off the newly formed indent in the hillside. "you tried, dream. you tried, and you failed. you lost, we won,  _ again!" _

dream tilts his chin up. "i wouldn't be so sure, tubbo. your land is still so easily destroyed."

"i would!" tubbo shouts back. "and we'll keep winning, every single time that you try and destroy us, because l'manburg isn't something that you can destroy. l'manburg is love, and hope, and freedom, and you can't destroy that. ha! you know what l'manburg is? it's a  _ dream.  _ it's a special place, a special people, and none of us are going to stop fighting for it. and you know what?"

dream doesn't say a word, but tommy's jaw drops slightly. he knows exactly what's coming. they've been friends for too long for him to not realize what words are about to leave his mouth.

tubbo flings his arms out to the sides, steps forward, and embraces the beautifully outrageous disaster that is his country-friends-family-home. "suck it, green boy!"

he doesn't expect the chorus of cheers that is just as loud as the laughter. he hears it anyway, fundy whooping from behind him and eret laughing from above. tommy is cackling, and wilbur is grinning, alight and alive. "you thought it would be a good idea to try to do this, and you were wrong," wilbur echoes, voice steady even if his hands shake. "i suggest you fuck off."

"correction," someone else calls out. technoblade steps forward, trident in hand, eyes narrowed in anger. "you thought it would be a good idea to try to hurt my family, and you were wrong. i suggest you fucking run."

dream knows when to give up a doomed plan and cut his losses. he runs.

tubbo is fully aware that he doesn't know when to give up, and he doesn't plan to learn now. but looking around, looking at the edges of the crater and the grins on everyone's faces, he'd like to think that's for the best.


End file.
